


Three A.M. Chats

by ddynoliaeth



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9287870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddynoliaeth/pseuds/ddynoliaeth
Summary: Neither Howard or Vince can sleep, so they have an uncharacteristically serious chat instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redshirtlondon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redshirtlondon/gifts).



> If you like this please consider commissioning me to write some fic for you!  
> http://vincenoir.tumblr.com/post/161648060242/hey-so-im-severely-strapped-for-cash-at-the

It is three in the morning, and Howard is still awake. He usually falls asleep within moments of his head hitting the pillow, and that’s usually around ten p.m at the latest, but tonight he’s spent hours lying in bed, thinking about nothing, but still unable to get some elusive shut-eye. He doesn’t have a clue why, but maybe it’s something in the water because from the way Vince is tossing and turning and wiggling in his bed, he’s not getting any sleep either.   
  
“Howard?” he hears a voice ask from across the room. He considers ignoring Vince, going back to his attempts to sleep, then sighs.   
  
“Yes, Vince?”   
  
“Do you think a bloke can get off with another bloke and not be gay?”   
  
Howard slowly opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling, deliberately not reacting. He takes a deep breath, exhales loudly, then takes one more.   
  
“Why are you asking me this?”   
  
Vince is suspiciously quiet for a while, and it’s too dark and Howard’s staring too resolutely at the ceiling for him to figure out what’s going on in that mind. He hears a small shifting - probably Vince shrugging under the covers.    
  
“Dunno. Just interested. So do you think he could or not?”   
  
“I don’t know, Vince. I haven’t had the experience. I mean, I guess he probably could.” He tries to keep the exasperation from his voice - it’s not Vince’s fault neither of them can sleep, and it’s definitely not his fault that the stereotype for three a.m chats is more ‘deep and meaningful’ than ‘light and playful’. Even if Vince has never really gone in for ‘deep and meaningful’ before, emotionally charged chats on roofs notwithstanding.    
  
“Do you think, if a bloke falls in love with another bloke, he can still be not gay?”   
  
“Isn’t there a word for that?” Howard asks, squinting at the ceiling. He’s out of his depth here - he’s not the sort of man to know a lot about the ins and outs of human sexuality. That’s far more Vince’s department. “For when someone can love men and women?”   
  
“Bisexuality,” Vince supplies immediately.    
  
“There’s your answer, then.”   
  
They lay in silence for a while, Howard listening to Vince’s soft but undeniably conscious breathing and Vince doing the same in return. Howard’s just about to turn over onto his side, away from Vince, assuming he's done and trying to go back to sleep, when Vince asks, softly:   
  
“Do you think you could fall in love with another bloke, Howard?”   
  
This one stumps him. Vince asks it in such a small voice, so much more serious than their conversation-slash-makeout session on the roof.    
  
“I… I don’t know, Little Man.”   
  
“It’s just, I’ve seen you fall in love with girls loads of times, and I was wondering if you could do that with a guy.”   
  
“I think,” Howard starts, then stops, taking his own advice. He thinks about it, really thinks. Then he says; “I think I could. If he was the right man.”

  
“Would you get off with him?” Howard tries not to blanche at the phrasing.   
  
“If I was in love with him, Vince, I’m sure I’d be open to sleeping with him, yes.”   
  
“What sort of man is the right man?”   
  
Howard sighs, realising that this conversation isn’t going to end with his dignity intact, and he isn’t going to get out of it without answering all of Vince’s questions. There's no real reason for him to tell the truth, except that this is Vince being possibly the most genuine he's ever heard him be, and he knows enough that he would have to be a monumental prick to not respect that. 

 

“Kind, I guess,” Howard says, staring resolutely away from the black lump that is Vince lying on his bed to his right. “Kind and attractive. Someone who listens to me, and cares about me, and wants me to be happy. Who knows me well enough to respect my boundaries. Someone who's optimistic, positive enough to balance out all my pessimism.”

 

“What would he look like?” Vince asks, and he might be going over the line here but Howard's too far into his descriptions to notice if he is. 

 

“He'd be pretty. Not all big and burly, but small - thin. Soft. Small enough that my hands on his hips would look all big and strong. The opposite to me - pale and tiny but big enough to give me a real good- ahem.” He coughs, stopping himself before he says anything really incriminating.

 

“What would you do with him?”

 

“What do you mean?” Howard asks with a dry mouth, but it's mostly to buy time because he knows  _ exactly  _ what Vince means.

 

“Would you kiss him?”

 

“I already told you I'd get off with him, Vince, obviously I'd kiss him.”

 

“Plenty of people sleep with people they don't kiss. How would you kiss him?”

 

A pause for consideration. “Softly, at first. Loving, just lips on lips. But then I'd kiss him harder. Show him how much of a man I am.”

 

“What would you do next?”

 

“I'd put my hands on those small hips,” Howard says, starting to forget that he's describing all this to his best mate and just getting into the fantasy he's creating. “Push his shirt up to touch his skin, look at my hands against all that pale. I'd kiss his neck, bite him, lick, touch. I'd take off his shirt, his tight jeans, and worship his body like he deserves. Kiss all over his tummy. Let my mustache tickle his face, his hair tickle mine.”

 

“And then?” Vince prompts when Howard falls silent for too long. 

 

“I- I'd let him touch me, too. Let him take off my shirt, my trousers. I'd keep kissing him.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I… I'd take off his little red pants, and I'd take off my pants, and I'd touch him, and hold him, and maybe taste him…”

 

“What next Howard?” If he notices how breathy Vince sounds he doesn't mention it.

 

“I'd ask him to fuck me.”

 

Vince makes a sound halfway between a gasp and a groan, and it's loud enough to shock Howard out of the moment, realise that he's been describing a sexual encounter between himself and another man to his best mate. He buries himself further under the covers, turns over so he's facing away from Vince, and tries desperately to force his stiffy down.

 

“Night, Vince,” he says, voice strained.

 

They're quiet for a while, Howard struggling with his uncomfortably erect cock in his pyjama bottoms, and Vince is silent for long enough for him to think that maybe he got bored and just finally fell asleep. 

 

Until Vince switches on his bedside lamp, illuminating the whole room with a soft yellow light, and sits up with his legs slung over the side of his bed. The covers are thrown back, Howard can hear, and he refuses to turn around.

 

“You'd really want him to bum you, Howard?” he asks, voice unreadable. Howard doesn't answer, squeezes his eyes shut really tight, and pretends to be asleep. Vince doesn't buy it.

 

“You know, I'm pretty small,” he says, conversationally. “And I'm pale. People tell me I'm pretty all the time, and you always say I'm the Sunshine Kid. I wear little red pants. And I reckon my hair would be tickly.”

 

Howard holds his breath, and turns over to look at his best friend.

 

Vince is sitting up, his bare feet on the carpet, in the black vest and tight red pants he went to bed in. Howard hadn't even noticed he'd mentioned them. But that wasn't what really drew his attention. The focal point of Howard's gaze was what was inside those pants - the unexpectedly massive bulge, shadowed by the lamp light, pushing insistently against them. 

 

Howard swallowed, then looked up to Vince's face.

 

“I didn't expect you'd want to get bummed,” he says, smirking a little.

 

“I didn't expect to be describing a homoerotic encounter to you tonight, either, so I guess we're both surprised.”

 

“Did you mean it all? Would you really kiss like that?”

 

Howard breaths in deep, closes his eyes, and makes a very important decision. He scoots backwards in his bed, and lifts the corner of his duvet.

 

Vince is off his bed like a shot, crawling in beside Howard with his body all angles and pointy elbows. He shuffles close to Howard, not close enough to touch, but close enough that he can feel the sharp and heady heat of Vince's stiffy. He's acutely aware that he said he'd only do anything with a man he loved, and desperately hopes Vince is not. 

 

They stare at each other for a few moments, Howard too scared to do anything and Vince too worried about spooking Howard to even move. Then, Howard starts to giggle. He snorts and smiles, and Vince looks confused until he catches up and starts laughing as well, and they shake with laughter at the situation, letting out the tension and getting back to just being Howard and Vince. 

 

Howard reaches over and rests his hand on Vince's hip, smiling wider at how his palm engulfs the tiny bone, and leans in to kiss Vince softly, sweetly, with no tongue and a lot of teeth because he can't stop grinning. Vince, on the other hand, exhales sharply and loses his smile, reaching up to cradle Howard's cheek. They pull apart, and Vince smirks, a challenge to Howard to take this to the next level he'd described.

 

Howard surges forward, plastering himself against Vince and forcefully pressing his mouth against that cocky grin. Vince gasps, surprised at how assured Howard can apparently be, and opens his mouth to let Howard's tongue in. He pulls at the bottom of his own vest, trying to get it up and over his head while still kissing Howard. He gives up halfway through, leaving it bunched up around his chest, moving to unbutton Howard's pyjama shirt instead as Howard's hands begin to skate across his belly and chest. 

 

For his part, Howard is keeping remarkably calm for a thirty-something year old virgin finally touching the best mate he's been secretly and with great shame rubbing one out to for who knows how many years. He's terrified Vince will see his naked body and run screaming - it's happened before, and while he's had the  _ thing  _ removed from his chest with only a small scar left, he's not exactly an adonis. Unlike the thin, lithe,  _ sexy  _ Vince Noir. Who, as Howard tweaks his nipple, lets out a decidedly unsexy squeak and then a very,  _ very  _ sexy groan. It's easier to focus on making Vince feel good than to worry about everything that may or may not happen, and for once Howard is determined not to let his neuroses ruin this for him. Not while Vince is pushing at his unbuttoned pyjama top and writhing against him.

 

Howard moves down to kiss at Vince's chest, shrugging out of his shirt and pulling Vince's vest further up over his collarbone. Vince buries his hands in Howard's hair for a moment, surprised at how soft and not greasy it is, and whines at the top of his throat as Howard licks across his nipple and bites down softly. Vince almost tears his vest pulling it over his head.

 

Howard returns to Vince's mouth, his chin wet with his own saliva and his mustache tickling Vince's upper lip. Vince shoves at Howard's pyjama bottoms, trying to get as much Howard against him as possible, but it's the little red pants that go first, and suddenly they're both lying there facing each other and both too nervous to look down and see their cocks barely an inch apart.

 

“What did you say happens next?” Vince whispers, thighs shaking slightly. Howard breathes in deep, smelling how hot for him Vince is, and gathers his courage and discards his dignity.

 

“Fuck me,” he says.

 

Vince stifles a smirk, badly. “Say please.”

 

Howard scowls, letting out a sound almost angry enough to be a growl, and pushes on Vince's shoulder hard until he's on his back and Howard can sling a leg over his hips, straddling him and finally bringing their cocks into contact. The effect is ruined slightly as they both moan, Vince grinding upwards. Howard squeezes his thighs around his hips harder, enough to still him.

 

“Vince, if you don't fuck me right now, I will never, ever speak to you again, sir.”

 

“Can't -  _ ah  _ \- can't have that,” Vince replies, hands gripping Howard's thighs enough to hurt. His hands look so small and pale against Howard's big legs, and it's getting Howard hotter than he thought he ever could be.

 

He almost pulls the drawer completely out of his bedside table searching for his lube, and he's about to slick up his fingers before he realises something.

 

“I don't have any condoms,” he says, almost tripping over his words as they bring him out of this weird, surreal moment where he can be in charge and confident. Vince shakes his head.

 

“I ain't had any since before your party,” he says. “And I got checked a couple days later. I'm all clean.” Howard doesn't look convinced, but he  _ does  _ look conflicted and desperate. “I wouldn't risk your health, Howard. Mates don't do that.”

 

Howard nods and screws his eyes shut for a moment, forcing down the feelings of rejection at being called a mate, and squirts out a generous amount of lube onto his hand. He knows that if Vince did it he wouldn't last half a second, and besides he wants this to burn, wants to feel it for days so he can remember this one time Vince was desperate enough for a shag that he stooped to bumming Howard.

 

It takes him a couple of minutes of whining and aborted thrusts on top of Vince to finger himself open enough that Vince's not unimpressive cock won't tear him a new arsehole, but he's ready and close to going off like a firecracker quite soon. He pulls his fingers out, and uses a  _ lot  _ of lube to ready Vince. Who, to his credit, kept still and quiet during the whole preparation procedure, but as soon as Howard's hand closes around his dick he tosses his head back and lets out a strangled gurgle, hands tightening on Howard's thighs. 

 

“Fuck, Vince,” Howard whispers. 

 

“God,  _ Howard _ , never -  _ fuck  _ \- never knew you could be so beautiful,” Vince forces through gritted teeth, trying to stave off whatever feelings Howard's tightly stroking hand is giving him. “Wanna be inside you, Howard. Please.”

 

How can Howard say no to such a polite request? He lifts up on his knees, leaning over Vince and supporting himself with a hand by his flared raven hair as he presses the tip of Vince's cock against himself. Vince cranes his neck up, cradling Howard's hips, and kisses him through the burn of penetration, biting at his lip and sucking at his mustache and kneading his thighs until Howard is seated right against his pelvis. 

 

“ _ Fuck, Howard, _ ” Vince whispers, as if in awe, and Howard can't say a damn thing so he just nods and breathes through it. It hurts so fucking much, but he keeps thinking that Vince is feeling good, and it's Vince inside him -  _ Vince  _ is  _ inside  _ him! - and after a few minutes of Vince staying carefully still and kissing across his face the burn fades and Howard can rock forward softly. Vince gasps, hands sliding up Howard's sides as he straightens up, coming to rest on his chest and squeezing his tits. Howard's cock, having fallen to half mast from the whole ordeal, twitches and fills again as Vince plays with his tits, kneading and pinching.

 

Howard starts off slow, trying to get his bearings with what feels like a cock the size of vesuvius up his arse. He's always known Vince is big, what with the tight clothes leaving  _ nothing  _ to the imagination, but it's one thing to extrapolate that your mate is hung like a horse and another entirely to have the evidence probing your insides. 

As he starts to get more and more comfortable, he speeds up, Northern pins a tremendous boon as he rides Vince hard and fast and oh, so deep. His hands on Vince's chest support him until Vince wraps his arms around his waist and suddenly Vince's face is pressed to  _ his  _ chest, sucking at the scar and his nipples and any amount of flesh he can get to. Vince is moving with him now, hips grinding and fucking up into him, and all he can feel is Vince  _ everywhere _ . His cock is trapped between them, and he just grips Vince's shoulders with hands too big and drives himself down onto Vince's cock again and again.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers, eyes screwed shut tight. Vince hums and groans and moans into his chest, licking up to his neck and stretching to suck on his collarbone, biting down hard and drawing blood to the surface into a deep purple bruise. Howard fucks down harder in response as Vince works a hand between them to stroke his dick.

 

“Howard, Howard, ah, Howard,” Vince babbles between kisses against his chest. “Howard, please, please come, I want you to, want you to come all over me, please, want your come all over my chest, come on, please.”

 

Howard has never been good at denying Vince anything.

 

His arse clenches pleasantly as his release smothers Vince's hand and their chests and stomachs, and Vince groans loudly as his eyes roll back into his head. Howard is being mostly supported by him now as he keeps fucking into him, smearing Howard's come over his own chest with his hand and kissing Howard's cheek and ear and neck slumped against his shoulder. 

 

“Oh Howard, Howard, yes, fuck, you're so good, so perfect,” he keeps saying, unable to stop the praise, and Howard's cock gives a valiant twitch against Vince's stomach at the words. “Howard, I love you, fuck, love you so much!”

 

Howard is surprised, caught entirely off guard, but Vince is holding him in a grip like a vice around his waist and still grinding up into him like a man starving for it. “Gonna- gonna come, Howard! Fuck, Howard, I love you, gonna-  _ ah!” _

 

Howard can feel Vince's cock pulse inside him, can feel his come in his arse, can feel it coating Vince's own dick as he shivers against him. It's incredible, feeling how good he's made Vince feel, how good they've felt together. Vince collapses back down onto Howard's bed, and Howard rolls off him to avoid crushing his considerably smaller frame.

 

They give each other a couple minutes to get their breathing back to normal and gather their thoughts. Howard is burning to ask if Vince meant it, but Vince is up and out of the bed before he gets the chance. Howard has a small but intense panic attack in the short time it takes Vince to visit the bathroom for a flannel, but relaxes when Vince climbs back into bed with him after cleaning them both up. Even soft, Vince's cock is impressively large, and Howard silently wonders at how he managed to fit that inside him at all.

 

“We didn't get to do everything you said there, Howard,” Vince says, arm over Howard's middle and cuddled up to his side. “But I hope you liked it anyway.”

 

“Did you mean it?” Howard blurts.

 

“Yeah,” Vince says around a yawn, blasé as ever, as though he hadn't just fucked and confessed his undying love to his best mate. “‘S cool if you don't, but I figure you get to know I love you since you told me all those secrets.”

 

Howard is silent for a few moments, hugging Vince with one arm and staring up at the ceiling again. “I… I love you, too, Vince,” he says after a while, and is pleasantly surprised at how good it feels.

 

“That's nice,” Vince says, as if he doesn't care over how tired he is, but Howard can feel the grin pressed against his shoulder. “G’night Howard.”

  
“Goodnight, Little Man.”


End file.
